


A simple chocolate cake

by AgusHeredia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Baking, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Angst, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgusHeredia/pseuds/AgusHeredia
Summary: Aziraphale wants to help the humans during the lockdown, but the situation soon overwhelms him. Lucky that Crowley is always there for him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	A simple chocolate cake

—A cup of flour, three eggs, butter, a tablespoon of vanilla essence.

Aziraphale stirred the mixture and prepared the mold. He poured the mixture there and sprinkled chocolate on top, sure that the children would like that.

_"It's been a tough time, a lot of people come, whole families."_

He fixed the sleeves of his shirt and passed his fingers through his sweaty hair. His curls were now a disaster and his whole body had succumbed to the heat of the room. The oven was on day and night, and the bookstore no longer kept its nature: now it was a constant chaos, and not the usual good chaos.

—The zest and juice of half a lemon, a cup of oil, flour, sugar, baking soda. Mix, stir, no eggs!

He cut the cookies with a star-shaped cutter and put them in the oven. Half an hour and they'd be ready. He still had to make the bread, the fritters, the cakes...

_"The pandemic was a blow to all, but it destroyed us."_

1) Mix until you have no lumps.

He still remembered the first time he'd been out. Shortly after calling Crowley he decided he had to do something. He was an angel after all, and even if he didn't work for heaven anymore that meant nothing. He had to help people. Children, families...

2) Caramelize the apples. They have to brown but without taking a dark colour. It has to reach the correct temperature because if not all the preparation can be left with a burnt taste.

_"We can't think. Hunger blinds you, immobilizes you. All you want to do is sleep but when night comes you can't because you're hungry, and you can only think about it, hunger. You become a hungry and desperate being"._

For God's sake, he forgot the raisins! And he still had to prepare the cakes, and then divide the ingredients, maybe appear more flour with a miracle, and more sugar.

After walking through very poor neighbourhoods he had realized that it was his duty to help. He had to. The children walked barefoot and carrying even smaller children. Parents made soups of water and imagination. Pots full of tears.

3) Mix with enveloping movements.

Prepare bread, knead, knead until anguish leaves your chest.

Getting things to change.  
Some people helped, prepared for winter, for the second stage of quarantine. But other people looked the other way, took refuge in their homes, had hot chocolate and watched movies.

_It all looks like a movie outside._

The hard months the government had announced had been devastating, and state aid was not enough, it never was. The measurements were illogical.

 _People can't stay inside their home if they don't have one.  
_ _They can't buy gel alcohol if they haven't bought the food yet.  
_ _They can't take care of themselves if they're hungry.  
_ _And only a few people understand what it's like to be hungry._

The angel finished kneading and placed the bread in the oven. He had to wait an hour, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He'd need more, more bread, more miracles, more help, they needed everything. And he could help them, he had to help them.

He fell from his back to the wall and slid to the ground, with thick tears devouring his cheeks and a tight rag in his hand. He looked at the oven in front of him and cried. The heat of the place wasn't enough, he wouldn't be enough. It never would be, and nobody cared. People were dying, he could feel it. The wails, the prayers, the despair and every time someone asked if anyone was there.

_"God can you hear me? Please send an angel, please help us, dear God, send one of your messengers, please don't forget us, we are your children"_

He could feel the sadness around him. It was as pure a feeling as love. He could not fully understand it, but his job was to identify and mitigate it, that dictated his nature. That had been done over the centuries, and yes, many times it had been difficult, but never like this. Now there were too many...

Although World War II had destroyed him.  
Chaos, bombs, fires, death.  
A lot of death. Too much death.  
And then the nuclear bombs, the chemical war, the overwhelming testimonies... All of that had shattered his senses, his body, his energy, and he had even thought of sleeping. But there was always a visible enemy to fight against, and that gave humans strength. They tended bridges to each other, joined the enemy. And sadness was filled with hope, and later with comfort, perhaps it even ended in a small and growing happiness.

But now... Now they were fighting against the time trial. And time had never been a good friend of mankind.

He breathed twice. _Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale..._ He had seen humans with panic attacks, but he was an angel. Something like that couldn't happen to him. He squeezed the rag tightly and allowed himself to cry a little more. It felt as if someone was stepping on his chest, and the weight became stronger, more painful. His eyes travelled the place in despair and his body began to tremble. He had to stop, _please stop, breathe, everything's fine.  
_**_No, it's not!  
_**_People die and you don't do anything, you can't do anything! They're right, you're a pathetic excuse from an angel! Useless! What will you do when Heaven returns? When Hell finds Crowley again. You won't be able to help him. You can't even cure humans from a stupid disease, you're nothing, you're nothing..._

The phone sounded.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale's heart stopped. It literally stopped, and that might have been a problem if he needed it to be alive.

“Crowley?”

“This is the third time I've called you! Where the hell were you?”

 _In the kitchen, crying in front of an oven, having a senseless panic attack.  
_Maybe that should answer.

"I was, I was cooking, dear," he replied simply, taking off his tears and clearing his throat so as not to sound so affected. “I'm busy,”

“What happens to your voice?”

The phone trembled in the hands of the principality and his chest ached with every forced breath. Tears kept falling and at some point he would too, he was sure. He felt his legs numb, his knees weak, a subtle tingling at the birth of his wings...  
He was about to fall.

“I was, I was just...”

“Angel?” Crowley asked, frightened. “Is everything all right? There's... anyone there with you?”

"No, no, I..." he exhaled, but he forgot what he had to do next.

“Say something and I'll show up, give me a sign. Are they there?”

The concern in Crowley’s voice caused his heart to squeeze, leaving him speechless. He didn't want to fall further into despair, but now it was all he could think of. _What would you do if they came back? If you can't even save the humans, how would you save Crowley?_

“Step aside,”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, still affected and confused.

“Step aside, angel,”

The phone started to warm up and vibrate, so the blonde let it go, leaning back, scared. Five seconds later he checked how a red-haired demon materialized in front of him, with his leather jacket, his pants tight and even his glasses on his hair. Crowley had travelled through the telephone lines at the speed of light to see him. _No_ , to make sure he was safe, or at least that's what his frown told him.

“What's going on?”

The demon quickly looked everywhere for some heavenly or dark presence, but when he found nothing on his radar, he turned to meet his partner’s eyes, who stared at him. Red, crystallized, huge... Broken. Aziraphale had been crying, and he had no idea why.

“What’s happening, angel? Are you ok?”

He wanted to get close, but the way Aziraphale twisted the rag in his hands, make him thought maybe it wouldn't be a good idea. However, he opened his mouth to make sure he was right about…

“Doesn't it smell like burning?”

The angel's eyes opened completely and his whole body straightened as he ran into the kitchen.

“Oh! No!”

He used the cloth in his hands to ward off the smoke, turned off the oven, pulled out the bread and left it on the countertop. He was totally black and scorched.

“I'm an idiot! Look what I've done!”

Crowley raised both eyebrows when he heard that word come out of Aziraphale's lips. The place seemed like a mess and so did he, but he've never seen him so angry, sad, frustrated. So completely overwhelmed.

“It’s all right, you can fix it,”

“No! I can't!" he yelled as he threw the tray, with bread and everything in the trash.

“Angel, take it easy. Look, you got a lot of food here, you could feed whole families!”

Aziraphale turned and nailed his eyes to him, wet but frightening.  
That's all he wanted, everything he was trying to do, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.

“Not enough...”

He rested both hands on the countertop and let all the weight of his body rest there. His chest ached and tears ran down his cheeks, devouring them, but there was no longer anything he could do to prevent it.  
Crowley watched him for long seconds without saying anything.

“Is... is there anything I can do?”

A little laugh escaped from the principality's throat.  
He had tried to contact his office, and he had felt completely stupid about it. It was obvious that no one would answer him, but he had tried, because he still believed, a part of him believed that Heaven would want to help. But as always, he was wrong. And yet Crowley, a demon, his best and only friend was there by his side, his arms open and determined. Willing to help him as usual. He was there for him like they'd never been before.

"I'm trying to help the families," Aziraphale explained, taking off his tears again, finally trying to calm down. "I talked to some charities and I'm trying to help them.

“All right,”

Crowley took his arm and turned it slowly, while the angel held his breath for a second. It had been a few months since the "non-apocalypse", and their relationship had improved, but he still forgot that that could happen. He forgot they were allowed to touch each other now.

“Do you then want to explain to me why you're like this? I don't get it, you love to help,”

Aziraphale wanted to answer but just couldn't do it. Crowley had taken his hands to his cheeks and cradled his face as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as he removed traces of tears that still soaked his skin; and that gesture had made him want to cry more.

"Oh, dear... " said the angel in a cut voice.

He breathed once more, squeezing the flaps of the black jacket tightly between his fingers, and pulled the demon, squeezing him in his arms. The redhead, completely surprised, took a while to reciprocated, but then placed a hand on the nape of the blonde's neck and surrounded his waist, making sure to hold him against his chest. He loved to hug him and knew how much Aziraphale liked him to caress his hair, reassure him, make him feel safe.

"Okay, just breathe," the demon whispered, having no idea what he was saying. “Do you want to talk about this?”

Aziraphale, still crying in his chest, shook his head.

“Okay...”

Crowley continued to caress his hair and cast a new look at the kitchen. There were cakes, biscuits, muffins, and burned breads, which with a small miracle on his part would be arranged in a heartbeat. However, they miracles could not simply appear things, and he understood why the angel had not wanted to take food from others to give to the people who needed it, Aziraphale would never do that. But he was not an angel, and he knew many people full of money, full of gluttony and ambition; full of food, clothes, and blankets they didn't need.

"All right, here's what we're going to do," Crowley told him after a moment, separating enough to stare him in the eyes. "You and I are going to cook some more bread, we're going to drink some hot chocolate, and then we're going to take all this to that charity you told me about, are you okay with that plan?"

Aziraphale frowned, trying to follow each of his words.

“Do you have another ugly apron? I don't want to ruin this shirt,”

“Do you want to... to cook with me?”

“Well... yes, unless you'd rather do it yourself. I can take care of putting everything in boxes or ordering this place,” he turned and walked out of the kitchen, towards the front.

Aziraphale followed him, still surprised, and became even more shocked to feel the small flashes of a demonic miracle in the air. Suddenly there was a suitcase and a purse in the middle of his living room. Leather, black, with snake scales. Scales that he'd recognize anywhere.

“This is yours?”

The angel turned to look at the demon, and saw him blush completely, even the skin seen on his neck.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't want to feel too comfortable, but, well… I, I thought maybe I might need a change of clothes or two, you know... Just in case,”

“Are you planning on staying?”

Crowley brought one of his hands to his hair and stirred it. He didn't know why he had taken the liberty of doing that, but he had wanted to do it. He wanted to be there for a while, with him, and have wine, make sure everything was okay.  
He was fed up with his apartment, his house, his loneliness.  
He didn't want to be alone.

"I'm sorry, angel, I should have asked you first. It's just clothes, I'm going to tidy up this place and I'm going to return the clothes to... What are you doing?”

The blonde had opened the bag and had pulled out a sweater, white, old and soft. It seemed very comfortable and smelled of Crowley, a mixture of his perfume with his essence, spicy, perhaps even fruity. Exquisite.

“Dear, would you lend it to me?”

“Do you want my sweater?”

"Yes...," he said, embarrassed.

“Yes, angel, of course. It's yours,”

Aziraphale gently took off his old vest and placed it on the sofa. The chimney fire cracked in the background, and the demon saw him changing clothes, bundling himself up with the sweater he had bought at the turn of the century in a Scottish tent. Of course "bought" was a technicality. Rather he had taken it without asking, with no intention of returning it, and then had kept it for many years, because he had decided to follow the summer, moving away from the cold that so much damage did to his half-snake body. But now, with the angel dressing it, for some reason winter no longer seemed annoying to him, but beautiful. If Aziraphale dressed like this more often, with _his_ clothes hugging his body, he might make the cold less painful.

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”

The blonde had approached him, but demon hadn't even noticed. They were face to face, and his curls were messy, and the tortoise neck of the sweater was a perfect contrast to his blushed cheeks, and his lips, magnificently pink, and his eyes, so bright... _Oh, my God._ Crowley knew he could get lost in those eyes. He could die right there, just looking at him.

“I want you to know that... that you can stay as long as you want," said Aziraphale, in a ripped voice, full of doubt. "I've been a fool to say no to you before. The truth is that... I missed you. But it's hard, you know? Get used to all this,”

The angel stretched out his hands, stopped halfway, but then continued, determined to be brave this time. He took Crowley's hands and squeezed them, happy to feel his cold skin beneath his.

“It's hard to realize that I'm alone. I mean, Heaven was never of great help, but I always thought that they cared a little at least, for humanity...”

“You are not alone, Aziraphale,”

The demon's gaze was sweet but in his voice there was sadness and reproach, and the blond was aware of that. He smiled in pain and brought his hands to his cheeks, just as the serpent had done before, cradling his face full of freckles, delighting in seeing the small crow's feet in his eyes; the soft old-age details Crowley had decided to have in his corporation.

"I know, dear, I'm sorry," he stroked his cheeks and watched him, discovering two huge yellow eyes in front of him, beautiful. "I'm sorry...”

They both knew what those words meant. It wasn't just an apology for not receiving him before, it was much more. A greater, deeper apology that carried six thousand years of guilt in each of its lyrics. That it was mixed with fear and regret. An apology that could no longer live in the angel without destroying him completely.

Aziraphale passed his gaze over the face of his beloved and stopped at his lips, eager to try them. They had done it before, and they had hugged, and had read books under blankets and even spent weekends in Crowley's apartment, watching boring movies, enjoying the small comments, the laughs, and the crying caused by certain scenes.  
But kissing him... It was so intimate, so perfect, so overwhelming.  
He stepped forward feeling his stomach stir completely, and found that Crowley was holding the air, which made him smile. The demon was just as nervous as he was, and looked completely tender with his cheeks flushed. The angel lifted his glasses, leaving them on his hair, and then came even closer, joining his lips sweetly.  
It was the first time he'd kissed him.  
The first time in a long time he made the first move.

Crowley gave himself up completely and relaxed his countenance, enjoying the taste of Aziraphale. He surrounded his waist and smiled as he felt the fabric of his own sweater. He exhaled slowly and lay his head, letting the angel take full control of the situation. Love was beginning to take over the bookshop, and Aziraphale was squeezing his back, approaching their bodies, smiling in his mouth. It was impossible for him to think of anything better.

"I'm glad you're here, dear. I really am. Very happy,”

“Me too, angel,”

“I would also like to... follow your plan, if you want,”

The demon walked away a few steps and smiled, with a black apron that had miraculously appeared on his body. He tied it to his waist, looked at Aziraphale one last time and headed for the kitchen.  
He took two eggs, a spoon, some flour and a blender, and stared at the cookbook, as if waiting for it to start talking.  
The angel approached with a curious look on his face.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?” He asked, a little worried that Crowley was trying to mix sugar with milk, and _extremely_ concerned that he was so dirty and _so_ close to his old recipe book.

"It's a simple chocolate cake," the demon replied, already with a little flour staining his face. “How hard can it be?”

**Author's Note:**

> Poverty is something that overwhelms me, and I have the misfortune to know what I am talking about. To all those who have had a tough few months, I hope everything starts to improve! We'll get out of this soon.  
> Lots of love! <3


End file.
